


Trained Observer

by Destina



Category: Die Hard (Movies), Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John McClane notices things. Or, you know. Not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trained Observer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lorax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorax/gifts).



John has noticed - because he's an observant person, naturally - that whenever the shit hits the fan with national security, Matt seems to be right in the middle of it. Take now, for instance: the news reports are going on about rumors of sensitive information stolen, cyber warfare, blah blah blah, and Matt has disappeared into his room with the kind of speed John associates with fleeing from terrorists (or from Lucy's impending inquisitorial visits - same difference). 

When he follows Matt to his room, which is conveniently located at the farthest point away from John's - the better to camouflage all the gaming-related noises which come from there at all hours of the day and night - Matt is already engrossed in something, a half-dozen windows open on his screen and fingers flying over the keys. 

"The hell?" John says conversationally, which after a year of living with Matt will be interpreted as meant: give me all the dirt. 

"Looks like a cyber attack on encrypted files at the Pentagon," Matt says, reaching for a days-old can of Red Bull which appears to be stuck to the top of his desk. His cell phone rings, and Matt shoves an earpiece in his ear. "Hello? Hey, hi, right, I'm on it." And then Matt goes well and truly down the rabbit hole of consultancy, which means John won't see him for hours. Days. Long, long days where John will marvel at how Matt's brain seems capable of sustaining that kind of activity, and then he will find him face-down asleep on the carpet. Which had stopped being unusual a year or so ago, not long after they first agreed to share living space. 

So it's about that time that John's getting ready to back out and quietly close the door, and just then Matt half-stands and reaches over the desk to rifle through a teetering stack of junk, which resembles the newspapers one might pry out of the garbage can for the cat to pee on, if one were desperate. John watches him stretch, because hey, he's not proud; Matt's attractive, and it's been a while, and even though he's twice the kid's age, he's not dead and his dick appreciates the view. 

The kid has a strawberry-colored bite mark at the edge of his collar, just the tip of it peeking out. 

John whistles. "That's some serious action, there."

"What?" Matt's face immediately flushes crimson, and John smirks, reaching to tug at the collar of his shirt. But Matt shies away, batting at him, and his collar pulls where John has hold of it. Just before he lets go, he catches sight of a bruise, below the bite - long and dark, and the correct shape for the fingers of a man's hand. It's something he's seen before, and for a long moment, he sees red. 

"McClane? John?" Now Matt sounds worried, and he's got a hand on John's shoulder. "You're not, like, having a stroke, are you? Are you okay?"

 _It's none of my business_ , John tells himself, and the red diminishes, but only slightly. "Don't you have the dark side of government waiting on your mad skills?" he says, forcing himself back and away from Matt's hand. Because it's none of his business. 

Matt side-eyes him, but the concern doesn't diminish; if anything, it gets deeper. John hates himself a little for recognizing that expression, and actually liking the fact that it's being directed at him, because he's a nosy SOB who can't get it through his head that it's _none of his business_ and he doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt.

"Please, I am begging you, never use the phrase 'mad skills' again -- it is so unnatural out of your mouth, seriously." Matt steps back, his hand sliding away. "You'll be around? Later I mean?"

"Yes, Matthew, I will appear regularly with food while you're in the nerd cave." 

Matt's grin quirks up, even if John can actually see him leaning back toward the computer like a tether is being pulled. John goes; he leaves the room, and heads back to the kitchen, where he grabs a beer and thinks over what the hell just happened there. 

It's pretty unlikely that someone is hurting Matt. He doesn't seem hurt. He seems...relaxed. At ease. Covered in love bites and finger marks. 

The red comes back; John grits his teeth and thinks about pleasant things, like long stretches of summer without any holidays in sight, until his blood pressure scoots back down to manageable levels. 

Matt's a grown man. Very grown, and he can handle himself. John knows this. He shouldn't interfere. Look where interfering got him with Lucy, who once changed her phone number three times in a week just to stave off his "concern." 

He's not going to get involved. Definitely not. 

*

Two days later, when Matt looks less like a mole awakened from deep slumber and more like a man who's been paid an obscene amount of money to solve a national crisis, John is definitely not following him around. It just so happens that Matt is getting into a stranger's car at the deli down the street, and driving 4.4 miles with him to a brownstone, and emerging from the car with a smile on his face. John is merely behind them because he encountered them on his way to...somewhere. He'll fill that part in later. 

Matt gets out of the passenger side, and a big man - taller than John, with just about the same volume of muscle, and slender shoulders - gets out of the driver side. Matt looks over at him and says something that makes the man laugh, and he follows Matt up to the door of the building. He pulls on Matt's arm and yanks him away from the door, crowding him against the wall with an audible thud. Matt's eyes go wide, and later, John doesn't even remember taking his gun out of the holster, or crossing the short width of pavement between his car and Matt. He only registers the side of that asshole's face where the muzzle of his weapon is pressed into it. 

"Police. Let him go," John says softly. 

"Christ, McClane! What the fuck are you doing?" If Matt's eyes were any wider, they'd fall out and roll on the ground like giant bloodshot marbles. John knows that look, but he's going to pretend that he's in the right here. 

Matt's eyes shift over to the man currently trembling beside John, who has the guy by the collar. Slowly, his hands separate from Matt's shoulders, and John lowers his weapon. 

"I didn't - I wasn't going to -" And then the man falls silent, looking between John and Matt as if they are the ones with explaining to do. Which, okay, John is willing to concede that up close, he doesn't look all that dangerous. He just doesn't look like a nerd, which threw off all John's instincts about Matt's life choices. 

That, and the shoving. 

"How do you know this guy?" John asks. 

There's a flicker of guilt-defiance mashup in Matt's expression. "How is that your business, exactly?"

John winces. It's not like he didn't know it was coming, but he's never been the best at actually learning from his mistakes. It doesn't change the fact that he wants this asshole beside him gone. Asshole, to his credit, does not even attempt to stand up for himself, which means he has more sense than John gave him credit for. Instead he stumbles his way backwards down the steps of the brownstone and gets in his car. 

And there they are on the stoop of some stranger's house. John and Matt, in some weird uncharted territory where John is intrusive and over-invested and protective -

\- right, maybe not that uncharted. 

Matt's eyes narrow, going from one extreme to the other. "Let me share something with you, McClane. I'm not Lucy. Also, I'm not a girl in general, and I don't need your goddamned protection. Not only do I not need it - you don't have the right." Matt lifts his chin there, and oh, John is so fucked, so very fucked. 

He holsters his weapon and nods, though he's watching the car's tail lights from the corner of his eye until it has turned down the alleyway and gone. "You're right," he says, because Matt isn't Lucy, and he doesn't have the right. But he cares about Matt, just like -

Nothing at all like Lucy, actually, and he's a fucking moron to have failed to pick up on it. The feelings he has are not paternal; what he wants is to put his hands on those bruises, maybe press into them a little, watch Matt's eyes go wide at his touch for a change instead of at the way he barges into Matt's life uninvited. 

Not paternal at all. 

"Now you're going to give me a ride home, and we are never, ever talking about this again. And you're not ever going to follow me, or so help me John -"

"Matt, you have to look out for yourself. That guy could-"

"Could what?" Matt's jaw sets in a particularly stubborn jut. "Is this because I like guys? Is that it?"

"What? No!" John rolls his eyes, because now the kid is just being a pain in the ass. "But this one was shoving you around, and that's not- you're not-"

"I'm not talking about this, is what I'm not." Matt pushes past him and marches down the street. "Get in the goddamned car, McClane, we are going home." 

John knows an order meant to be obeyed when he hears it. Path of least resistance. Besides, Matt is already in the passenger seat, fuming. 

Better get it over with. 

*

The stony silence persists on the short drive home, and into the house, and even John bringing Matt a beer doesn't bring it to an end. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, and John is unpleasantly reminded of a thousand fights with Holly, who brought stony silence to a new and atmospheric high when she was especially pissed. 

Although why he should be comparing Matt to Holly - well, hell. It's a day of goddamned revelations, and John thinks he's about done with all that, and ready to put it to bed. So to speak. But Matt's never given any sign of interest. John would have noticed. 

"So, it's not a problem for you? That I like guys?" The first words to pass Matt's lips are not exactly what John had expected. 

John considers how to answer that. 

"You do realize," John says slowly, "that I don't care who you fuck, provided it's not Lucy and I don't have to hear the gory details. Right?"

"Right?" Matt answers, but it sounds like a question, and there's a tiny confused furrow between his eyes which might be frown but looks more like a pained admission. John's going to choose to ignore that one, because it's been a long day and he's fucked up his weekly quota's worth of relationship tokens. 

"Right. Now get us another beer, I'm on empty." John drains the dregs of his bottle and hands it over with an expectant look. 

"Jesus." Matt sits forward suddenly, pressing the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, and all John's alarm bells go off. He slides one hand to the back of Matt's neck, gripping gently his thumb rubbing over the soft hair curling at his collar. 

"Hey, what-"

Matt tenses, and sighs out a shaky breath. 

John's a trained observer, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Matt's afraid of him. After all, John just assaulted his pushy boyfriend without (much) provocation. So it's hands off. "Sorry," he says quietly. He gets to his feet, momentarily at a loss. Beers. He can get beers. That's good. 

"What the hell are you _sorry_ for? For touching me?" Matt tilts his face up, staring at John like he's one of those weird games he keeps downloading and crowing about once he solves. "Not for scaring off the first dude I've dated in years? Do you not even think about what you're doing, McClane? Or why?"

"You need to find a better dude to date," John tells him kindly, because he's nothing if not a fount of excellent advice in the dating department. 

"God. John," Matt says, in a pained, deep voice which does horribly arousing things to John's dick. It never did know when to back down, and it always did like arguments way too much. "You are the most obtuse...the most..." Matt seems momentarily at a loss for words, which is alarming in and of itself, until he reaches out, curls one hand around the back of John's neck, and yanks - hard - to crush John's mouth to his. 

Never one to ignore a challenge, John curves his palms to the shape of Matt's face and gentles the kiss, proving that he is not obtuse, thanks, and he has mad skills of his own. The kind of skills that make Matt gasp quietly into his mouth, and part his lips when John deepens up that kiss nice and dirty. 

"Did you really fucking think he was hurting me?" Matt asks, and now he's pressing himself up against John in ways that are pretty familiar, as the end of arguments go. He takes John's fingers, presses them against his chest - hard - and suddenly, John understands. "Did you even notice me burning a hole through you with my _eyes_ every time you stripped down after the gym, holy shit, did you think I was dating Muscles for his gentlemanly manners? How did I end up with someone so fucking oblivious? I can't-"

John kisses him again, mostly to shut him up, but he's smiling this time because Matt is full-body shivering against him, and it's the good shiver, the kind that makes John want to peel him out of his clothes, throw him down on the bed, spread him wide open, and teach him a few things. Matt seems to like that plan, if the way he's ripping at John's Henley with shaking fingers is any indication. 

John gets it now, because come on. He is, after all, a trained observer.

**Author's Note:**

> A Yuletide treat for lorax, because tropes.


End file.
